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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524688">Better Angels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCosmicMushroom/pseuds/TheCosmicMushroom'>TheCosmicMushroom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:34:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCosmicMushroom/pseuds/TheCosmicMushroom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“That can’t be right.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Malcolm’s own words reach his ears on a delay, distant and hollow and riddled with feedback like he’d spoken them through a shoddy connection from the vacuum of space, which isn’t too far from how it feels.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His doctor smiles apologetically. “The results of your blood work are about as conclusive as they can be at this stage, Mr. Bright. I can say with confidence that you are, in fact, pregnant.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>[An AU in which Malcolm has a one-night stand with long-time crushes, the Arroyos, over Spring Break, and while dealing with the unintended consequences, he might just find that the best night of his life wasn’t such an isolated incident, after all.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo/Malcolm Bright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>PSon Goblin Swap Summer 2020!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Better Angels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/gifts">akingnotaprincess</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Had an absolute blast working on this fic, and I hope it shows!</p><p>King, your prompts were all so wonderful, I couldn't pick just one, so have this big ol' amalgamation of all the Gil/Jackie/Malcolm prompts you submitted! I really hope it makes you smile as much as you make <em>me</em> smile!! 😉❤</p><p>Beta'd by the absolutely wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/pseuds/tess_genor">Tess</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <strong>WEEK SIX</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“That can’t be right.”</p><p>Malcolm’s own words reach his ears on a delay, distant and hollow and riddled with feedback like he’d spoken them through a shoddy connection from the vacuum of space, which isn’t too far from how it feels.</p><p>His doctor smiles apologetically. “The results of your blood work are about as conclusive as they can be at this stage, Mr. Bright. I can say with confidence that you are, in fact, pregnant. You said the last time you had sexual intercourse was around six weeks ago, correct?” When he nods, she continues, “Well, in that case, we can also perform an ultrasound to confirm.” By the condescending sympathy in her tone, she clearly doesn’t believe it’s necessary.</p><p>He drops a hand onto his lower abdomen. “I don’t understand. My pediatrician insisted when I first presented that the medications I was on would make me barren. How could this happen?”</p><p>With a frown, the doctor checks the iPad in her hands, clicking through a few screens of his chart, eyes widening at the list of his current prescriptions before she can school her features. Her jaw flexes a few times while she chews over her response. “Well, this combination of medications could cause infertility,” she glances up with a tight-lipped smile, “but it wouldn’t be a guaranteed outcome. And it certainly isn’t something that could have been determined at such a young age.”</p><p>Malcolm shakes his head, mouth flapping open and closed uselessly, unable to wrap his head around the revelation. For eight years, he’d assumed this part of his future was irreparably altered, stolen from him by his father like so many other things. He looks down to where he’s been stroking his belly, still taut and smooth beneath layers of muscle. There’s an embryo in there, he thinks, the first hints of excitement sending a thrill up his spine until a darker voice counters: what if they turn out like you? Or worse, like Martin?</p><p>“—Mr. Bright?” The doctor’s voice cuts through the fog, and when he lifts his head, he can tell it’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention by the concern on her face. “This must come as a shock, all things considered. Why don’t you take a few days to discuss things with your Alpha? We can take this at your pace.”</p><p>At the mention of an Alpha, Malcolm’s mood sours further. How the hell was he supposed to explain to Gil and Jackie that their drunken fling—a fling both Arroyos seemed content in pretending never even happened—had produced an  consequence of this magnitude? A dozen scenarios cross his mind, each more catastrophic than the last, and his anxiety only builds. Vaguely, he recalls that the doctor expects some kind of reply and rasps, “Right, sure, sounds good,” before booking it for the door.</p><p>Back in the waiting room, he attempts to call an Uber, but his phone vibrates just as he removes it from his pocket, a notification popping up on the screen informing him he has a text from Jackie. He swipes it away without opening it.</p><p>The phone rests heavy in his lap the entire ride back to the dorms, and once he’s raced up the stairs to the eighth floor and into his room, he stacks it under the copy of Cognitive Psychology sitting on his desk.</p><p>Later, he’d analyze his own fractured reasoning and the root cause of his paranoia, but as he lies awake that night, fitful and filled to the brim with guilt, he swears he can hear it buzzing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK NINE</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, city boy, it’s Gil. Again. Listen, if this is about…” The sigh that follows the pointed trail off hits Malcolm like a gut punch every time. “Jackie and I are worried about you. I understand if you don’t want to talk, but can you send one of us a text, just to let us know you’re okay? Please?”</p><p>The voicemail system chimes in to remind him how to listen to the message again, like he hadn’t been playing it on a loop all morning. His roommate had checked in on him earlier, tried to strike up conversation and even peeled back the covers when that failed, but the glimpse of sodden eyes and the despair wafting out from between the folds of the comforter had been enough to convince him to leave well enough alone.</p><p>The logical part of his brain knows just how easy it would be to type out ‘I’m fine’ and go about his day. Or better yet, to call and admit the actual reason he’s been avoiding the two most important people in his life for weeks. The emotional side insists he shove that idea where the sun don’t shine.</p><p>He blames the hormones.</p><p>With a weak sob, he wipes the moisture from his cheeks and replays the message.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK ELEVEN</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” Malcolm grunts, tugging at the middle button of his shirt as if doing so might allow it to stretch to it’s matching buttonhole over the bump that arose on his stomach seemingly overnight. He hisses as the cotton splits along the seam down his back, and he tears it further in his haste to remove it, tossing it in the pile of too-snug shirts on the floor. Defeated, he yanks an oversized sweatshirt from its hanger—one of Gil’s that he’d “borrowed” during spring break—and pulls it on overhead.</p><p>His first class passes in a blur, the professor’s monotonous lecture drowning in the rush of blood in his ears. A few times, bile rises to the back of his throat, all-too-familiar nausea drawing it up through his esophagus. He manages to swallow it down until class is dismissed, at which point he sprints for the nearest bathroom and loses what little he’d choked down before leaving his dorm. While resting his cheek on the disgusting but cool toilet seat between heaves, his phone goes off in his backpack.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:14 AM</h4>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>Hey love just wanted you to know that you've been on my mind all morning. I hope you'll let us know you're okay soon.
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>Maybe it’s the nausea, or the insomnia that’s limited him to an hour of sleep on the best of nights since that fateful doctor’s visit, or the desperation he can read in every character of Jackie’s text that drives him to do it. Hell, it could be the smell of Gil soaked deep in the fibers of the sweatshirt he’s holding over his nose. Whatever it may be, Malcolm bites his lip and taps away at the on-screen keyboard.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:14 AM</h4>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>Hey love just wanted you to know that you've been on my mind all morning. I hope you'll let us know you're okay soon.
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>I'm sorry.</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>Another wave of sickness overtakes him, forcing him to keep his face buried in porcelain for a while. When he straightens, he spots the notification light flickering blue.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>I'm sorry.</dd>
</div>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>Don't be sorry babe. Are you doing okay? Anything we can do to help?
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>It’s almost enough to reduce him to tears, the swell of longing to crumple into her embrace, to cuddle up close and bask in the jasmine and bergamot of her scent until all his worries evaporate. He can’t quite contain a whine.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>Don't be sorry babe. Are you doing okay? Anything we can do to help?
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:27 AM</h4>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>Something's happened. I don't know how to tell you.</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>Stupid, he thinks at himself, clenching his eyes closed. He can picture her expression, the typical Alpha determination to locate and fix the cause of all his distress or die trying without knowing the source is much closer than she thinks. Jackie’s always been even worse than Gil with her fierce protectiveness, but he hopes she won’t push on this one. As the minutes tick by, cold from the tile under his knees bleeds through his pants and into his skin, but it can’t compare to the icy twinge of fear growing in his heart. As he’s rising back onto unsteady feet, the vibration in his hand startles him enough that his phone nearly takes a bath in vomit-infused toilet water.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:35 AM</h4>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>I don’t want you to think I’m trying to make you talk about it but I need you to know that there’s nothing you could say that would change the fact that we both love you.
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>After rinsing his mouth out as best he can and splashing some water on his face, Malcolm darts out into the hall, keeping his face angled toward the floor to mask his panic, though any Alpha within a mile radius can no doubt detect the acrid stench of distraught Omega. By the time he slips into his dorm, he counts himself lucky that only half a dozen nosy Alphas stopped him along the way; doubly lucky when he finds himself alone in the cramped space. He collapses on the bed, phone screen mere inches from the end of his nose while he struggles with what to say. “Sorry, Jackie, not a lot you or Gil can do unless you want to bond with this damaged, 21-year-old Omega who’s been secretly in love with the both of you for years” would be a bit much. “Sure, Jackie, you could explain to my mother why her unbonded son is coming home knocked up” would be a bit unfair. “I’m fine” would be a goddamn lie, but somehow, it’s the most appealing.</p><p>Instead, Jackie decides for him.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:35 AM</h4>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>I don’t want you to think I’m trying to make you talk about it but I need you to know that there’s nothing you could say that would change the fact that we both love you.
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:47 AM</h4>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>I think we need to talk face to face babe. Gil and I have been discussing it and since you’re almost done with school for the year we were hoping you could come visit during your break. Don’t stress but will you at least think about it?
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>His heart leaps at the idea of spending time with the Arroyos, dampened only by the knowledge that they might not be so keen to have him around once they see what he’s hidden from them. Memories resurface of jasmine and teakwood, the burn of expensive scotch on his tongue, the smile pressed into his cheek, and the tickle of whiskers on his shoulder.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Jackie</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>May 25, 2009</b>, 10:47 AM</h4>

<div class="in">
<dt>Jackie</dt>
<dd>I think we need to talk face to face babe. Gil and I have been discussing it and since you’re almost done with school for the year we were hoping you could come visit during your break. Don’t stress but will you at least think about it?
xx Jackie</dd>
</div>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>Okay.</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK FOURTEEN</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm’s surprised there’s any lettering left on the F5 key of his laptop; even as he thinks it, he hits the refresh again. As he watches the loading icon spin, he nibbles at his thumb, tearing at a hangnail he’s worried with his teeth for thirty minutes. The page takes longer to load than any previous attempt, and his heartbeat quickens. When his transcript appears on screen, he forgets how to breathe until he’s scrolled down.</p><p>A’s. Straight A’s.</p><p>“I did it,” he whispers. Then, a smile stretches across his lips, rounding his cheeks and scrunching up his nose. “I fucking did it!”</p><p>He snatches up his phone and has Gil’s number up on the screen, thumb hovering over the dial button before he realizes his mistake. His smile falters, hand quivering hard enough that he has to readjust his hold lest he make the call by mistake. Overwhelmed, Malcolm goes over all the emotions swirling around his head, separating them out and picking them apart until he can get a firm grasp on them. Logically, he knows what’s causing the dichotomy, that his desire to have contact with the people he’s taken to calling “his Alphas” in the privacy of his mind is overtaking the apprehension keeping him away. What continues to baffle him is the intensity of his need, which, even now, won’t allow him to shove the phone back into his pocket without giving something in return. Shakily, he pulls up his text thread with Gil.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Gil</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>Jun 8, 2009</b>, 12:47 PM</h4>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>I passed my courses. A's in all six.</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>The fluttering in Malcolm’s gut feels less like butterflies and more like vultures. Though he isn’t really surprised when his ringtone chimes to life, the timing catches him off guard, and his phone tumbles to the bed. He watches as it shimmies across the wrinkled comforter, screen bright in the dim-lit space until the call gets routed to voicemail. After another minute, it gives one final pulse before going dark, only the blue flash of the notification light reminding him he isn’t out of the woods yet. He holds the receiver to his ear.</p><p>“Congratulations!” two voices cry the instant the message plays, followed by a loud wolf whistle and boisterous clapping.</p><p>Gil’s campfire timbre swoops in once their celebration dies down. “Knew you could do it, city boy. We’re so proud of you.”</p><p>From the background, Jackie shouts, “So proud, babe!”</p><p>There’s an uncharacteristic pause, not quite a silence because he can hear Gil’s hesitation screaming through the speaker, but eventually, the man speaks again. “So, now that you’ve finished the year, I imagine you’ll be heading back to New York soon. Jackie and I were wondering if you’d decided… if you’d given any more thought to our offer. It’s fine either way, but…” The hitch of breath, the hard swallow just after, both set gooseflesh pimpling all along Malcolm’s body, every hair standing on end as he waits. “We miss you, kid. Just… let us know when you have a chance, okay? Love you.”</p><p>Before the line can click over to the voicemail system, he swipes back and listens to those last two words a few—or twenty—more times. In a spell of boldness, he goes back into his conversation with Gil before he has a chance to think better of it.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Gil</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>Jun 8, 2009</b>, 1:06 PM</h4>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>My train arrives at Grand Central at noon on the 25th.</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>He draws as much air through his gritted teeth as he can. Then Gil’s response comes through.</p><dl class="imessageorig">
<h2 class="contact">Gil</h2>

<h4 class="time">
<b>Jun 8, 2009</b>, 1:06 PM</h4>

<div class="out">
<dt>Malcolm</dt>
<dd>My train arrives at Grand Central at noon on the 25th.</dd>
</div>

<div class="in">
<dt>Gil</dt>
<dd>We’ll pick you up at the station. Don’t forget to let your mother know.</dd>
</div>

<div class="footer">
<span class="typebar"></span>
</div>
</dl><p>The easy quality in the words is so quintessentially Gil that he can’t help but smile. Maybe this isn’t such a terrible idea, after all, he thinks as he slaps his laptop closed and hauls his suitcase out of the closet.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK SIXTEEN</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“This is such a terrible idea,” Malcolm mutters into his palms, sucking choppy breaths around his fingers to try and curb the roiling in his stomach. The train lurches a few more times before coming to a stop in Grand Central with a squeal and hiss from the aging shocks. He figures he must look about how he feels when the woman in the adjacent seat yanks his bag off the overhead rack for him, setting it down on the floor between them with a sympathetic smile and a glance at his belly—he’s already regretting the thin, cotton tee that emphasizes the growing lump in place of his pullover hoodie, ninety-degree weather be damned. Though he tries to return the expression, pain and anxiety twist it into something closer to a grimace.</p><p>As the other passengers file out onto the platform, adrenaline surges through his system, dialing his heart rate to the max, and strands of hair that fall loose from the rest stick to the thick layer of sweat on his forehead. His ascent to the mezzanine passes more like a march along death row, and his entire body trembles as the crowd before him begins to disperse. Through the gaps, he spies a familiar head of salt-and-pepper hair near the entrance. Some irrational part of his mind begs him to turn around, to find the next train going back to Massachusetts and throw around however much Whitly money is needed to secure himself a seat. The instant the idea strikes him, though, Gil’s face comes into view, Jackie’s just beside it, and shame clears out any thoughts of leaving. The slight quirk of his lips and her blinding grin have him hooked, and he curses himself as they reel him right in.</p><p>Jackie spots him first, and for a minute, he’s a child again, so small under the weight of her stare as it trails his front and lands on his stomach. Her excitement melts into surprise, her eyes growing impossibly wider. When she goes rigid beside him, Gil follows her gaze, and something dark flashes across his face when he spots the baby bump. It might be his own variation on shock or confusion... or anger, Malcolm thinks and compels his leaden feet to ferry him over closer. His relief is immediate when he catches a whiff of them—that same jasmine and teakwood that had haunted his dreams for weeks without a hint of malice.</p><p>Some of his fear must carry in the air because they both snap out of their stupor at the same moment, moods brightening, though not quite to the same exuberant level. Jackie takes a step forward and spreads her arms wide.</p><p>Malcolm wavers, whiplash and the constant flux of hormones pinning him with indecision before some deep-seated instinct takes over. With a near-silent whimper, he launches himself toward her, knees going weak as the warm spice of her scent surrounds him. One hand guides his face into the crook of her neck as she does the same, breathing him in as desperately as he does her. When a heavy, callused palm lands on the nape of his neck, he has to smother a whine.</p><p>“It’s good to see you again, city boy,” Gil says from just behind him, and contact from his Alphas—not yours, a viscous voice reminds—calms him enough that he can almost forget why he panicked in the first place.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>“Oh, babe,” Jackie mumbles into his hair with one last squeeze before pulling away. She’s arranged her features back into a semblance of her earlier cheer, lips curling at the corners. “What do you say we pick up some takeout on the way home?”</p><p>The suggestion evokes the memory of his last evening with the Arroyos, and with a lump in his throat, Malcolm huffs a wet laugh. “Red Peony, then?”</p><p>Gil loops an arm around his shoulders, grinning, and pulls him in close to say, “You got it, kid.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Halfway into the second container of sweet and sour chicken, sprawled out on the couch between his—they aren’t <em>my</em> Alphas, he shuts down the thought—the Arroyos in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy tee, Malcolm’s starting to feel normal again. Some comedian he isn’t familiar with is on the TV, but his attention keeps drifting back to Jackie’s glowing smile and Gil’s knee where it jostles against his thigh each time the man laughs. His inner Omega has gone to putty, content to bask their shared space, but unease lingers in the corner of his mind, insisting that nothing good in his life ever lasts long.</p><p>If only his anxiety could be wrong every once in a while.</p><p>“So,” Jackie says after dumping her empty plate on the coffee table and flopping back into the cushions. “How far along are you, babe?”</p><p>It’s fine, they won’t know, they won’t even think about it, he tells himself as his palms grow clammy. “About sixteen weeks.”</p><p>A knot forms in her brow, but Gil comments first. “You’re looking a little on the thin side for the second trimester, kid. Please tell me you haven’t been living off Twizzlers.”</p><p>“Uh,” Malcolm starts, grimacing internally. A little externally, too, if Jackie’s look of warning is any indication. “I eat more than just Twizzlers.”</p><p>By Gil’s groan, it’s clear his dodge isn’t missed. Before he can reprimand the dangerous behavior, though, Jackie intercedes. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to work on fattening you up while we’ve got you here, then, won’t we?” With a mischievous giggle, she elbows Malcolm in the side and whispers conspiratorially, “So, who’s the lucky Alpha?”</p><p>He stiffens, and Gil does the same. The language center of his brain goes dead, words evading him each time he grasps for them, and he ends up turning toward her without speaking, bloodless face frozen in fear.</p><p>The reaction takes her by surprise, and her hands come up to cradle his cheeks. "Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” she asks, running her fingers over his face and neck, scent rising in an attempt to soothe. Behind him, Gil shifts and places a hand on either shoulder right by Jackie’s, mimicking her with delicate touches. When Malcolm doesn’t answer—can’t because his vocal cords are still paralyzed—she tips her forehead against his. “C’mon, babe, talk to us.”</p><p>He tries, he really does, working his tense jaw open and going over and over and over what he could say, but—“I-I can’t.”</p><p>She sighs, but her grip on him doesn’t ease. Instead, she seizes his gaze and asks, “Is this about the baby’s Alpha parent?”</p><p>The way his eyes screw shut, tears streaming through his lashes, is telling on its own, but he nods anyway. As he does, Gil scoots in closer behind him, pressing his chest flat to Malcolm’s back.</p><p>Sharp as razor wire, Gil’s growl buzzes against the back of his neck. “Did someone hurt you, Malcolm?”</p><p>Startled, he jerks back from Jackie, turning as if he could calm the furious man with only a look, but she doesn’t release his face. While her features remain neutral, the spark of fury burns through her pupils, too. “No, that’s not—” he whines, becoming overwhelmed and—horrifyingly—aroused trapped between the over-protective Alphas, and he can only hope his anxiety disguises the smell of it.</p><p>They relax a fraction, but tension still saturates the air, adding weight to it until he can’t seem to draw sufficient oxygen anymore. He gasps, chest heaving from exertion, and the signs of an impending panic attack couldn’t be more obvious. Jackie and Gil react immediately, both retreating to give him space, so Malcolm curls in on himself, arms folding across his chest.</p><p>Some immeasurable breadth of time passes, the roar in his ears drowning out everything but his own pulse. As the episode winds down, Malcolm catches two sets of murmured comforts, coaxing him back to himself. When his muscles stop spasming and he’s finally able to raise his head, both voices cease, and Jackie bends down low, bringing her wide, concerned eyes into view. When she sees him looking back, she gives him a smile and reaches out to wipe away his tears.</p><p>“Glad to have you back,” she whispers like she expects anything louder might spook him again. When he attempts to duck his head again, she gets a finger under his chin and angles his face up with a gentle nudge. The twist of her lips is apologetic. “I know you’re scared, babe, but something tells me this won’t get better until you tell us what’s going on.”</p><p>Malcolm’s eyelids pinch closed. Just say it, they’re not going to let this go until you do, he thinks.</p><p>“Kid,” he hears from behind him just as a pair of strong arms loop around his waist and rough facial hair scrapes along his ear. “No matter what, we love you, and nothing’s going to change that. I promise.”</p><p>His declaration and Jackie’s from weeks ago echo in Malcolm’s ears until he can make himself believe them, and before he loses his nerve, he wheezes, “The baby’s yours.”</p><p>He couldn’t say what he’d expected, but no reaction at all wasn’t it. No one moves in the aftermath of his confession, and the preternatural stillness quickly becomes more than he can stand. It’s like whatever tied his tongue vanishes in an instant, and his thoughts spill out of his mouth faster than he can articulate them; logorrhea, as Gabrielle would call it, like putting a name to was supposed to help him control it.</p><p>“Okay, I know we haven’t acknowledged that we had sex back in March—I’m sure you remember but maybe you don’t, doesn’t matter—but it got me pregnant. Crazy, I know, I didn’t think I could even get pregnant, but my doctor told me that my pediatrician was wrong when he—you know what, that’s not important. What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry because I know you’ve both avoided talking about it, probably would rather pretend it never happened, but—”</p><p>“Stop,” Jackie growls, cutting him off with the fervor of her denial. She swoops in close, and with the way her eyes smolder like cinders on a dying fire, Malcolm feels like he should be able to read her thoughts.</p><p>It’s Gil, however, who spells it out for him. “Kid… god, do you really think we regret sleeping with you?”</p><p>Something in the exasperation in his tone sinks into Malcolm’s chest like the first tendrils of hope wrapping around his suffocating heart. “Neither of you said a word about it. Even when you left me that voicemail, it was like you couldn’t bring yourself to. Why… if you didn’t regret it, then why?”</p><p>Jackie darts a look over his shoulder, uncharacteristic uncertainty peeking through all the Alpha posturing. After drawing a deep gulp of air, she refocuses on Malcolm’s face. “Babe, we—” Swallowing thickly, she huffs a harsh laugh, but he can tell it’s not at his expense but rather at her own hesitance. “We thought <em>you</em> had second thoughts about what happened.”</p><p>All he can do is blink back at her, struck mute by the very concept. “Wha—why the hell would you think that?”</p><p>A scoff behind him ruffles the hair on the back of his head, and Malcolm spins around. This time, Jackie allows it, her hands falling away from his cheeks. Gil has an eyebrow raised and a wry smile cut into his lips. “I don’t know if you noticed, kid, but we’re over twice your age. Not to mention that we’re a pair of mated Alphas, which puts us somewhere between a dead fish and a root canal on the desirability scale.” When he opens his mouth to protest, Gil holds up a hand. “You know society frowns on relationships like ours. It’s just the way it is. And you, you’re a young, attractive Omega in his prime breeding years with the entire Milton fortune to his name. You could have anyone in this city or any other, for that matter. We just… figured it was a fluke, a one-time thing to get it out of your system before you pursued other options.”</p><p>Malcolm shakes his head then pivots to throw the same questioning stare back at Jackie. “I—how…?” Burying his face in his hands, he fights to organize his wild thoughts before he opens his mouth again. Embarrassment keeps his fingers glued to his eyes. “Damn it, I’ve been in love with both of you for years. It doesn’t matter how old you are or how eligible a bachelor I am. I don’t want to ‘pursue other options.’ Please, I just… I just want you.”</p><p>I can’t do this, he thinks when no reply is forthcoming and the pressure inside just keeps building until it’s crushing his lungs and his heart and he’s about to burst at any second and—</p><p>“Malcolm,” Gil says, tugging at one of the hands Malcolm hides behind while Jackie takes the other. When he still refuses to open his eyes, a nose nuzzles up under his jaw, lips brushing over the side of his neck right where a mating bite would go, and like flipping a switch, his body remembers that he’s sandwiched between two Alphas. And not just any two Alphas, either. A quiet moan sneaks out of his mouth, and when he cracks open his eyelids and sees the way Gil’s staring back at him, he lets out another to admire the way the black of the man’s pupil consumes his iris at the sound. A part of him is still screaming that this can’t be possible, that he’s reading the situation all wrong or that he’s going to wake up alone in his dorm, but another part—one whose voice grows stronger by the second—refuses to pass up this chance to actually be happy for once in his life.</p><p>“You sure this is what you want, kid?” Gil asks. There’s a seriousness in the set of his face, mirrored in the way Jackie pauses her playful exploration of his neck, and Malcolm knows that if he told them now that he’d changed his mind, they’d drop it in a heartbeat and never bring it up again. For the first time in a long damn time, his choice actually means something, and he has no intention of wasting it.</p><p>“Please,” he whispers, funneling every ounce of sincerity he possesses into his eyes darting between the two of them. “God, if you want this, too, if you… if you love me, please show me you mean it.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Jackie hisses, baring her teeth before launching forward and crashing their lips together, plunging into his mouth with her tongue when he gasps. Under her assault, Malcolm falls limp, kissing her back when she gives him the chance but otherwise taking what she offers with shuddering mewls. It takes longer than it should for him to notice the cushions shifting behind him and the rustle of clothing being removed, and by the time he does, he still isn’t ready for the solid steel arms that loop around him, one beneath his knees and the other around his shoulders. Gil picks him up like he weighs nothing at all, and when his legs shift, a rush of slick spurts out from between his cheeks. Both Alphas groan simultaneously as the sweet scent floods the room, and it seems like they fly up the stairs to the master suite between blinks.</p><p>The stifling pheromones all three of them are pumping out go right to Malcolm’s head, filling it with fog and spice and cotton candy, and he’s floating. He’s aware of his feet hitting the floor and Jackie kneeling down to tug his sweatpants off while Gil works his tee over his head. It doesn’t register that he’s standing naked between them right away, not until soft hands slide up his thighs, reaching around to grab handfuls of his ass, kneading and rubbing the delicate flesh. As he peeks his eyes open to watch her, Gil steps in close behind him, hard length digging into the small of his back, and sweeps a tender caress down along his ribs and over the slight mound of his stomach. Jackie rises up onto her knees and plants kisses around his belly button, and the way she peers up at him with a light of pure adoration shining through her eyes alone is nearly enough to do him in.</p><p>“Please,” he pants, squirming in place.</p><p>With a smug smirk, Jackie sits back on her heels. “You asked us to show you that we love you, babe. So, let us.”</p><p>Whining high in his throat, Malcolm throws his head back against Gil’s shoulder and nods urgently. That’s all it takes to spur Gil into action, once again hoisting the Omega clean off the floor and positioning him on the bed on his knees. When Malcolm tilts forward, however, intent on presenting as his instincts demand, the man halts his descent with a forearm across his chest. He hums a question over his shoulder, but the Alpha doesn’t answer, instead cozying up against his back and laying a trail of open-mouthed kisses along his shoulder and up his neck, nosing up into his hair when he runs out of skin. Malcolm shivers when a finger traces his spine before slipping between his cheeks. Even he’s surprised by how easily the first digit slides in, gasping as the slick furl of muscle slackens under the Alpha’s ministrations. After that, a second digit and a third join in, but he couldn’t say when because his other Alpha hijacks his attention by crawling up onto the mattress on all fours and, before he can wonder what she’s planning, swiping the flat of her tongue across the head of his cock.</p><p>“Oh god,” he moans, hissing each haggard breath between his teeth as he fights for control, fire consuming every nerve ending. It’s a testament to his self-control that he doesn’t shoot off on Jackie’s face right then and there, though she seems dead set on testing his limitations, wrapping her lips around him and hollowing her cheeks. Like they’re in sync, just as she does, Gil’s fingers rub over his prostate, and Malcolm’s entire body spasms. “No, wait—ah, please,” he cries when the pleasure crescendos, his balls pulling up close to his body as he teeters on the edge.</p><p>Thankfully, both Alphas release him like they’ve been burned, and the complete vacuum of sensation left in the wake of their touch is enough to bring him back from the cusp. He braces himself with a quivering hand on either of Jackie’s shoulders, lips shining with saliva as he laps at them with his tongue. Once he’s confident that he’s got a handle on himself, he straightens to meet her eye, reaching back to grab a hold of Gil’s hip so he knows Malcolm’s next words are directed at him, too, and tries for a smirk. “I don’t want to finish before we’ve even started.”</p><p>Jackie snorts, then seeks her husband’s opinion on the matter over his shoulder. Whatever agreement they come to causes her to rear back onto her knees and shuffle over until the flat of her stomach conforms to the subtle curve of Malcolm’s. She drops a peck right to the end of his nose and whispers, “Don’t worry, babe, we’re not done with you yet. Did you need another minute,” she leans in close and sucks his earlobe between her teeth, “or were you ready to see what else we had in mind?”</p><p>He expels all the air in his lungs on a whimper, his cock twitching in interest against her hip. Like the sound was all the signal he needed, Gil tucks his fingers back into the crack of Malcolm’s ass and right into his aching hole, earning a yelp. What really gets him, though, are Jackie’s fingers tracing a path along his chest, over his belly, and down between his legs. Spreading them wide to fit around where the other Alpha is knuckle-deep inside of him, she scoops up a glob of his slick and drags it back along his perineum and his balls. When she wraps her sopping hand around him and gives a quick jerk, Malcolm sees stars. She makes another couple passes, until every aching inch of him is dripping wet, then wraps a vice grip right above his balls until Gil retracts his fingers with a “pop.” By that point, he feels lightheaded and a little like he might combust if this keeps up, but he’s loving every second of it.</p><p>Gil’s sticky hand snakes around, splaying across his chest just over his heart, and a blunt pressure worms between his cheeks. Whiskers tickle at his shoulder—just like all those weeks ago when he’d had his first ambrosial taste—and in a pitch so deep, it’s more of a rumble, Gil says, “Relax for me, city boy.”</p><p>Then the world whites out.</p><p>All his senses dull until everything has narrowed down to the friction of Gil filling him up, the Alpha’s hips slapping flush with his own in one powerful thrust. Reality eventually filters back in; first, the purr reverberating behind his breastbone, then the reassuring coos in his ear and curls cascading over smooth, tawny skin. And then, the hand that had prevented an untimely end to their evening guides him between parted thighs and into the velvety warmth of Jackie’s body. This time, he can’t suppress a cry, one that comes from deep in his gut, and they don’t give him time to recover. Gil withdraws slightly only to rock back into him, shoving him forward and further into Jackie. She moves with him, lifting up before rolling her hips down, which in turn forces Malcolm back onto Gil’s cock.</p><p>They pass him back and forth between them like this, steady and unhurried, until they’re all drenched with sweat, swapping sloppy kisses and tongues around breathy moans. In a moment of lucidity, he recognizes the hunger and need clouding Jackie’s eyes and reaches uncoordinated fingers down between them, teasing at her folds and preparing to dive between them. Before he can, however, her fingers twine with his and hold his hand away from her body. Confused, he tries again with his left, but Gil takes that one and places it flat against Malcolm's chest.</p><p>“Not tonight, babe,” Jackie pants, using her free hand on his shoulder as leverage to slam herself down onto him harder, punching a groan from both men. “Tonight is all about you.”</p><p>The pace picks up from there, their bodies pistoning in and out of each other like a well-oiled machine, but every stroke, every thrust is tender, like Gil and Jackie are making love to him rather than just fucking him. He understands with a jolt that they’ve done it, exactly as he’d begged them to; cradled between the solid weight of them, he feels loved.</p><p>“Please,” he breathes, tingling hands trembling in the Alphas’ grasp. He’s close, so close his thoughts are nothing but a litany of “fuck me, breed me, claim me,” and if he doesn’t say this now, he won’t be able to in a minute. “Bi—ah… bite me, please. Both of you, I want it, I love you, please, please, please,” he sobs and knows he’s babbling, but he can’t stop the spew of words once they start.</p><p>“Oh, babe,” Jackie says, grabbing his chin to tilt his head back so she can slot her lips just below his ear while Gil does the same on the other side. Her tongue laves the sensitive area, then she says, “We love you, too.”</p><p>“So much,” Gil echoes, and then there’s something sharp dimpling his skin, like the tine of a fork pressed against the outer char of a steak, surface tension stretched to the max before it ruptures. A stab of pain hits a split second before euphoria, which sings across his veins and wrings the most intense orgasm of his life out of him. The only infinitesimal piece of him not being dragged along for the ride registers the hot spray of Gil’s release coating his insides and the clamp of Jackie around his pulsating cock as the bond throws the both of them headlong into bliss after him.</p><p>It could be minutes or hours before Malcolm comes back to himself, lying on his side between his Alphas, the hum of contentment still buzzing through his body. The lights are out, and his sweatpants are back over his hips. He casts his blurry eyes around and tries to sit up, but the arms tossed over his waist tighten and urge him back onto his side. A bare chest crowds up against his back, and a pair of spit-slick lips capture his.</p><p>When the measured kiss has him dozing, Jackie whispers, “Go back to sleep, love. We’ve got you.”</p><p>And without a hint of doubt in his mind, Malcolm believes her.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK TWENTY-TWO</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Kid, you can’t just—” Gil starts, jaw clenching as he struggles with his temper, a vein throbbing at his temple.</p><p>“I can and, in fact, did,” Malcolm fires back, eyebrows arched in challenge and a playful smirk on his lips. He’d known how this conversation would go the second he brought it up, which is exactly why he’d waited to mention it until after he sealed the deal. “NYU accepted my transfer application last week. Tuition’s all paid.”</p><p>Frustration overcoming his self-control, Gil grunts and spins away, but he knows his Alpha isn’t actually upset with him. Jackie, who’s watched patiently from her seat beside him on the couch, speaks up to fill the silence. “Babe, you’re enrolled in one of the most prestigious universities in the country. It’s Harvard, for God’s sake. Do you really want to throw that away?”</p><p>He can’t help the quick bark of laughter that slips out. “Oh, fuck Harvard. ‘Prestigious’ is just another way of saying ‘pretentious.’ An Ivy League degree doesn’t mean as much as you might think, not anymore. And if it means being able to stay here with you, that’s all that matters to me.”</p><p>Though she still looks skeptical, he can tell his tenacity is winning her over. Her husband, on the other hand—“Malcolm, you can’t make concessions with your education and your future. Especially not for us.”</p><p>And that’s the real root of the problem, isn’t it, he thinks as he pushes to his feet—wobbling like a top and waving Jackie back when she jumps halfway out of her seat toward him—and approaches Gil. He lays his hands on rigid shoulders, standing up on his tiptoes so he can press a light kiss to the back of his Alpha’s neck. With his lips brushing skin on every word, Malcolm murmurs, “You aren’t taking this from me, Gil. Being with the two of you isn’t stealing my opportunities away. You are nothing like my father.” He wraps his fingers around Gil’s wrist and pulls him around, seeking stormy brown eyes out with his own and peering right past the defensiveness and into his vulnerable core. “Besides, I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for me. I’m coming back to New York because <em>I</em> want to be close to you and Jackie. It’s my choice. Please,” he pleads with his tone and his eyes, “respect that.”</p><p>There’s some internal war raging in Gil, visible to Malcolm in the dip of his brows and the twitch at the corners of his mouth, but in the end, he relaxes. “Fine, but,” he enunciates, jabbing a finger his direction, “you get to explain to your mother why she won’t be adding another Harvard graduate to the family.”</p><p>That gets a wince out of Malcolm, and he says, “Touché,” before climbing back up on his tiptoes to look Gil right in the eye. With a blinding grin, he finishes, “Deal,” then closes the gap between them.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK THIRTY</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm Whitly, what the hell were you thinking?”</p><p>He blinks slowly to hide an eye roll, and his tongue will have perfect impressions of his teeth for days. “I know it might not guarantee you the most illustrious bragging rights at the next charity dinner, but NYU is—”</p><p>“You think this is about Harvard, Malcolm?” Jessica breaks in, inflection varying in line with her agitation. “I’m a little more interested in—” she fishes around for a way to refer to the baby without having to acknowledge its existence; she’s unsuccessful. With a “tsk,” she throws up her hands, shaking her head, and cries, “My god, I don’t hear from you for months, and you come home bonded to two Alphas and <em>pregnant?”</em></p><p>The genuine hurt in her voice hits him like a ton of bricks, and he has to choke down no inconsiderable amount of guilt before he’s able to croak, “I’m sorry, Mother. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”</p><p>Like all the fight is draining out of her, her shoulder’s droop, and with a lost look, she crumples onto the bergère opposite him, shielding her eyes with a hand. If she was any other woman, he might have worried she was crying, but Jessica Whitly just wasn’t the type. When she raises her head and he spies steel in her gaze, Malcolm feels a wave of affection equal to his exasperation. “Who?” she asks, tone leaving no room for argument.</p><p>Out of the frying pan, he thinks wearily. “Gil and Jackie Arroyo.”</p><p>His answer shocks her to silence, all emotion abandoning her face as she slumps back into the cushions. Sparks gradually flicker to life behind her eyes, and then the fire reignites, hotter than ever. “That son of a bitch—”</p><p>“Don’t,” he snarls as she springs up and rips her phone free from her purse. Even he’s caught off guard by his own vitriol, but he doesn’t back down, shoving to his feet and contracting all the muscles in his legs to keep from toppling back. “Just don’t, Mother. They didn’t do anything I didn’t ask them to do. If you insist on being angry with someone,” he spreads his arms, curving his hands back to gesture at himself, “then I’m the most deserving candidate.”</p><p>Jessica’s nostrils flare, and the tilt of her head is meant to appear intimidating. By the scent seeping from her and the moisture glossing her lower eyelids, though, he knows better. “The Arroyos,” she growls the name like it pains her to say, “are old enough to be your parents, Malcolm. And you’re the son of a Milton, and they know that.”</p><p>Before she’s finished, he’s shaking his head. “Despite your insistence on consistently making my relationships about you and your money, I love them, Mother. And Gil and Jackie love me back. That’s all I care about.”</p><p>Pity warps her face into something ugly, something patronizing and belittling, and the sight turns his stomach. She reaches out, intent on cupping his cheeks, but he side-steps before she can. Her hands flop back to her sides. “How can you be so naive? This world runs on two things: money and power. You, my dear, were blessed enough to be born with both, and that means <em>everyone—”</em></p><p>Malcolm can already hear the nihilistic end of her sentiment, the implication that his value is inextricably tied to the Milton family fortune, that Gil and Jackie look at him as nothing more than dollar signs and the promise of social capital, and his blood comes to a boil, the world around him shifting red. “Mother, just because your Alpha manipulated you and used your family name to lure in his victims doesn’t mean the rest of us are doomed to follow in your footsteps.”</p><p>As soon as he’s spit the words, he realizes what he’s done. His knees go weak, trembling a moment before he gets a hand braced on the armrest beside him. “Mother, I—”</p><p>The blaze in Jessica’s eyes flashes bright before icing over in nuclear winter. Robotically, she whispers, “Get the hell out of my house,” then turns on her heel and disappears into the hall.</p><p>Though he’s tempted to chase her down, he can’t imagine any positive resolution coming out of it. So, Malcolm slowly gathers his coat and heads for the door, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” before exiting onto the sidewalk.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK THIRTY-ONE</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“She hasn’t come out of her room except to eat, and she barely says a word when she does. I’d say it was a nice change of pace if she didn’t look like she’d been crying for a week straight.”</p><p>Malcolm reflexively bites down harder on the tip of his thumb. When he pulls it back to check for blood, he asks, “Has she said anything about what happened?”</p><p>“Not—” Ainsley cuts off, and in the background, he can hear the sound of a door creaking open. He closes his eyes and holds his breath, every atom of his being tuned into the rustle bleeding across the phone line. Muffled, he catches his sister saying, “No, I’m fine, Louisa, thanks,” before the door latches again. His heart plummets as she lifts the receiver back to her ear. “Sorry, what did you say again?”</p><p>“Has Mother said anything to you?” he snaps, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to replace his bloody thumb, teeth scraping the rough skin raw.</p><p>“No, not really,” she hums, and he can hear the shrug through the phone.</p><p>His head lulls back, smacking off the wall hard, but the pain grants a welcome respite to the maelstrom inside his skull. “Listen, Ains, when you see her at dinner, can you—”</p><p>“Malcolm,” she groans. “I have been stuck in the middle of all the family drama since I was ten, and I’m sick of it. Having to sit there and watch you two scream at each other was bad enough, but then you both suddenly decided I was your own personal family counselor and I’ve been running damage control ever since. I’m not doing it this time. You two got yourselves into this, you figure it out.”</p><p>Afraid she’s about to hang up, he shoots up and shouts, “Wait! Please.” There’s silence on the other end of the connection but it doesn’t click over, so he rushes to explain. “I—I really screwed things up, Ains,” his voice cracks on her name, “and I don’t know what to do about it. I mean, she wasn’t exactly nice about it, herself, but what I said was way out of line. Now, she won’t answer my texts or my calls, and I highly doubt she’d let me in if I just turned up out of the blue.”</p><p>“Well—”</p><p>“Gil even tried reaching out, but I think she’s even more angry with him right now, which really isn’t fair because this is my fault, not his—”</p><p>“Bro,” she yells, the speaker crackling in his ear. After she’s sure her interjection has stunned him into silence, Ainsley sighs and gently says, “You’re pregnant, bro. Getting worked up like this isn’t good for you or the baby. And Mom’s not exactly a shrinking violet, you know. She’ll be fine, she just needs time, and you need to take care of yourself. I know it goes against your guilt complex or whatever, but believe it or not, not everything bad that happens is always your fault, okay?”</p><p>A thousand pithy remarks spring to mind, denials and rebuttals and non-answers. He says nothing.</p><p>There’s some more shuffling, and Ainsley says, “Look, I have to go, but I love you, Mal. Talk soon, okay?”</p><p>Long after the call disconnects and his phone screen fades to black, he collapses onto his side on the bed and murmurs, “Yeah, love you, too, Ains.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>WEEK THIRTY-SEVEN</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“She’ll come around, babe,” Jackie hums into his hair, tightening her arms around him.</p><p>A disgusting sniffle punctuates her reassurance, his voice annoying even to himself as he snivels, “She shouldn’t after what I said.”</p><p>“Oh, love,” she chuckles, brushing his hair back from his forehead, “you’re cute when you’re hormonal.”</p><p>He jams his middle finger in her laughing face and then toward the second floor, where the sound of Gil echoing her carries down the stairs. “I’m glad my misery amuses you both,” he grumbles but stays propped against Jackie’s chest.</p><p>“She’s still your mother, kid,” Gil says, jogging down the last couple steps and rounding the banister. “Sure, she’s pissed now—and for good reason, by the sound of it—but she loves you. She'll come around.”</p><p>Under his breath, Malcolm sighs, “Maybe I’m more like my dad that I thought.”</p><p>“Hey,” Jackie warns, cupping the bottom of his chin and tipping his head all the way back to where she can frown down at him. “Why would you say something like that?”</p><p>He purses his lips rather than answering, sniffing as another tear leaks out along his temple. Across the room, Gil harrumphs, scrubbing a hand over his face, and walks over, kneeling on the floor beside the couch and threading his fingers through Malcolm’s where they’d been resting on his belly.</p><p>“Look at me, Malcolm,” he says, waiting patiently until the Omega begrudgingly twists to face him, finding nothing but unadulterated love in his expression. “I’m not going to tell you that what you’re going through is easy. It’s not. Relationships are… they’re more than just love. They’re complex, living things that take a lot of work, more than pop culture ever prepares us for. Things get messy sometimes, like they are with your mom, but one way or another, they always work out. And don’t forget, whatever happens,” he stops long enough to sneak a kiss before finishing, “we’ll be here for you, kid.”</p><p>Malcolm can’t help but smile at the promise, bumping his nose affectionately against Gil’s, but before he can respond, there’s a knock at the door. He jerks back, startled eyes landing on the entryway. Gil checks his watch but doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest to have a visitor at eight at night. Instead, he hefts himself up off the floor, dusting off his knees as he strolls over and tugs the door open. There’s no greeting and no reaction, and just as he’s starting to worry, Jackie puts her mouth against his ear and whispers, “Why don’t you go over and see who’s at the door, babe?”</p><p>Curious why she would be sending her very pregnant Omega over instead of going herself, he squints back at her. The enigmatic grin and the arch of one eyebrow gets him wondering even harder, so with her help, he climbs off the couch and wanders over to where Gil is still standing stock still in the doorway. Just before he rounds the jamb, a slight breeze blows a familiar scent into the living room, and he understands.</p><p>“Mother?” he asks, hopeful as he shuffles the last few feet to the door.</p><p>Jessica looks as out of place as she likely feels in her Dolce &amp; Gabbana skirt suit and Bergdorf Goodman handbag clasped tightly in both hands. Her frigid stare slides away from Gil at the sound of his voice, a few emotions crossing her face before she settles on uncomfortable.</p><p>At a loss for words for possibly the first time in his life, Malcolm stands frozen before her, unsure what he should—or even could—say. Well, do something, he thinks desperately at himself but to no avail.</p><p>The sound of a throat being cleared draws both their attention to where Jackie has joined Gil. “Would you two like to speak alone? We have a guest room upstairs—”</p><p>“That won’t be necessary,” Jessica interrupts, chin tilting up as she gives the Alphas an assessing once-over and a cold smile. "I came to speak with my son, but I’d rather stay out here, if it’s all the same to you.”</p><p>Malcolm bristles at the obvious snub, but Jackie simply nods. “Of course. We’ll be just inside if you need anything, love,” she says to him before giving him a light shove at the small of his back.</p><p>“Hey, wait—” he protests but it’s too late, and the door swings shut in his face. Awkwardly, he sways in place, hands rubbing circles over his swollen belly until the stress breaks him down, and he finally speaks, hating himself for what his frustration is about to make him say. “You shouldn’t talk down to them like that. They’re good people, Mother.”</p><p>“Are they?” Jessica asks, lips thinning to a line, gaze still locked on the door. “I hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>“No,” he growls, advancing toward her with his metaphorical hackles up. The aggressive action gets her attention, and her face softens. “Listen if you just came here to bad-mouth my Alphas, you can go ahead and leave. I don’t have the energy—”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Malcolm.”</p><p>The apology blindsides him, mouth hanging open on whatever he’d been about to say, his mind shocked to vacancy. If he hadn’t watched the shape of her lips forming the syllables, he might have argued that he’d imagine it.</p><p>With a deep breath, she continues. “I won’t pretend to like who you’ve chosen to attach yourself to, lord knows it was hard enough to bring myself to come here, but…” Her eyes drift down to his stomach and then back, something uncharacteristically supplicating in their depths. She stretches a shaky hand toward him, a question. “I can’t lose you.”</p><p>In the face of his mother’s appeal, his resentment crumbles as does his resolve, and he stumbles forward into her with a sob. “I didn’t think you’d forgive me,” he wails against her shoulder, trembling worse when she bundles him up in her arms like she did when he was a child crying for Dad to come home.</p><p>“Oh, my love,” she huffs, voice wavering in a way it rarely has in his lifetime, and if he feels a droplet of moisture land on his temple, he’d never call her on it.</p><p>They stand on the porch, clinging to each other like they’ll forget how to breathe if they don’t, until his tears—and hers—subside. When he peels himself away from her, Malcolm rubs at his face, aware of how red his skin must be after the day he’s had, though he feels a bit better when he sees his mother fairing about the same. While watching her dab at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her purse, he gulps a lungful of air and says, “I’m sorry. For what I said. I shouldn’t have—”</p><p>“No, you probably shouldn’t have,” she inserts, stuffing the soiled cloth into a side pocket before rearranging her coat and hair, “but neither should I. I suppose tact never has run in the Milton family.” She gives him a hesitant but warm smile. “Something you’ll learn very soon about being a parent, Malcolm, is that children can say such awful things, but in the end, if they’re yours, there’s almost nothing you can’t forgive. And there is nothing in this world that could make me stop loving you.”</p><p>His lip quavers, but he manages to hold back a second torrential downpour. “Love you, too, Mom.”</p><p>“Right, well then,” she says with a perfunctory nod and a step toward the door, giving a rapt knock. It opens almost immediately, and Malcolm suspects his Alphas were lingering right nearby the entire time. The edge in Jessica’s eyes is back as she takes in the Arroyos, but they don’t react, so she says, “I suppose this is the part where I entrust the two of you with my son, but know this,” and squares up to them, not one hint of Omegan submissiveness in her posture. “If either of you ever hurt him, there is nowhere on this Earth that I will not find you. Do you understand me?”</p><p>“Perfectly,” they answer in unison, eyes shifting from her to Malcolm and back.</p><p>“Excellent,” she says with a wicked flash of teeth and spins on her heel, crossing the walkway up to where Adolpho has the car parked by the sidewalk. He holds the door open for her, and just before she ducks into her seat, Ainsley pokes her head out.</p><p>“See you on the big day, bro!” she yells with her hands cupped around her grinning mouth before moving out of the way for Jessica.</p><p>And even after they’ve driven away and he’s back in the house, sprawled across his Alphas on the couch, he can’t stop smiling.</p><p>“You’re looking pretty happy down there, city boy,” Gil quips, kissing the back of Malcolm’s hand where it’s twined with his own before setting both gently back over his belly.</p><p>He glances up at him then over to Jackie, who lays her hand over theirs with a twinkle in her eyes, and with his heart fit to burst, says, “Yeah, I really am.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those of you who are 18+ and interested in talking Prodigal Son with a bunch of fellow nerds, drop on by the <a href="https://discord.gg/57U9Tm5">Prodigal Son Trash Server</a> and say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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